magpie to the morning
by hyperphonic
Summary: In retrospect, both of them realized that maybe, when dealing with people as obstinate as the Xingese, the threat of an Emperors wrath alone wasn't as good as say, a locked door. vignette collection/ratings may vary/unbeta'd
1. ashes to ashes

**because**: this couple is so dynamic and just kinda make me need to sit down.

**prompt**: "I have looked at you in millions of different ways and have loved you in each"

**speaking of**: if you've got a prompt, i'd love to take it on my tumblr, _hyperphonic_

* * *

When Ling Yao is all of five years old, he is assigned two bodyguards; an owl-esque man by the name of Fu, and his shy little granddaughter, Lan Fan. They're alright, he supposes, though the young prince can't help but find them both a little stuffy. A fact driven home when he'd offered to play Dragons and Heroes with the little girl she'd just blinked at him with huge, dark eyes before politely declining from behind her mask.

Later, as her shy little exterior falls away like summer blossoms, the Yao Prince discovers that it's for the best she'd refused, because _surely_ she's a dragon (and even at five, he knows he's no hero). "Say, Lan Fan," he smiles as they sit together on the steps to his family's estate. "Do you want to play Dragons and _Phoenixes_?"

This time, she doesn't blink, nor cower behind the knee of her grandfather- but simply tilts her head to one side and smiles before standing up and offering a hand. "Will you be the Phoenix, Young Master?"

They spend the whole day racing about the courtyards and steepeled rooftops, laughter catching on the wind and the bright Xingese sun.

* * *

Being a thirteen-year-old boy in the court of Xing was painful. The meetings were long, the processions even _longer_ and the endless hours of polite conversation excruciating. Tonight's gathering is particularly unpleasant- a stuffy dinner chock to the brim with insipid young ladies and the omnipresent council of Elders (when _he_ becomes emporer he'll abolish the both of them, no old men to breathe down his neck and no tittering girls to breathe down his chest).

Finally fed up with it all, Ling begins to formulate a plan. "Lan Fan," the dark boy purrs into his noodles, "what say we leave?" (He knows she is starving from their sparring session earlier, but ceremonial dinners aren't a place for vassals to eat, and he hates that almost as much as the Elders.)

"We can't," she responds from her spot at his shoulder, the steady flow of Qi within her acting to soothe his terribly frayed nerves. "It's important you're seen here, Young Master."

She was entirely right, but that didn't stop Ling from sending her a pleading glance. "I'm sure no one would notice a lick," one hand absently stirs the steaming noodles before him, chopsticks held with an inane amount of grace. "And then we could _both _go eat." His Vassal sighs but relents nonetheless, and is quick to follow his act as Ling slips into a fit of faux coughs.

That night, as they sit together on his roof, shoulders brushing in the cool air, Ling wonders what the odd rushing in his chest is. He'd shared many a meal with Lan Fan since she'd taken up by his side, why now did he feel like he couldn't quite breathe right? It didn't matter though, not when the fireworks start and her face breaks into a smile, hot food abandoned in favor of watching the lights.

* * *

"You didn't have to take first watch," The Phoenix of Xing sighs, dark eyes fixed firmly on the star-strewn sky above them. "You need to sleep just as much as the rest of us." He can only show such obvious concern for her when the rest of the world is asleep; Lan Fan is glad for the night to hide the flush of her cheeks (she also wonders if in Amestris, where there are no Xingese laws to bind them, he will ask if she needs anything under the _sun_). "Grandfather rises with the dawn. I am more suited to taking the first watch." It doesn't matter that they're both fully capable of waking whenever, or that her eyes do droop when no one is watching.

No, Ling smiles as he turns to peer at his companion (he would call her the 'girl he loves' but that would mean admitting how much he wants her. And that isn't going to happen. Not yet), it only matters that her hand rests at just the right height to tangle their fingers together (though _that_ would be too forward just yet). So with an expertly faked yawn, he brushes his fingers against her own and sighs. "This isn't going to be easy," Lan Fan nods, and lets her calloused digits run the length of his forearm. "Desert crossing very rarely are." He can hear the dry wit in her voice, and it causes him to give a sleepy chortle. "Fair enough."

For a while it is quiet, all bright stars and soft breathing- until Ling speaks again.

"It wont be easy when we get to Amestris either." This time, when Lan Fan softly speaks, it is with a sigh and the gentle tug of fingers through his bangs. "We never expected it to be." And they didn't, Ling knows it just as well as she does- the endless nights spent planning were never done so under the illusion of ease.

Nothing comes easy in a land of such convoluted laws; but Ling is willing to try.

* * *

Amestris turns out to be a very unsettling place. The constant roiling of Qi beneath their feet drives the prince and his vassal up onto the roofs; where at least they can pretend to not feel it so acutely. Lan Fan's mask is at her hip, pulled away in favor of a soft kiss and the slide of her palms against his chest as they convene. "I don't like it here." She breathes against his neck, brows drawn up ever so slightly. "We shouldn't stay any longer than necessary."

Ling can't help but agree. "We'll be fast. Those Elric boys really know a lot, I don't think this'll take too long at all." But still, he wraps his arms around her and tries not to let his Qi show just how much he wants to leave the city behind. (There is something very, very wrong in Central.)

* * *

Ling knows, deep in his gut, that this plan of theirs is undeniably dangerous. He knows that willingly taking on a homunculus, even _with_ their level of training, is almost a death sentence. (The young prince tries his best not to think about the fact that they can't even kill the thing, should the situation go south.)

Lan Fan is highly aware of this too, as evidenced by the tight curl of her frame against his headboard. "You should sleep, Young Master," she murmurs, halfheartedly at best. They are both afraid, finally feeling their mere sixteen years- unprepared and unwilling to back down.

"So should you," He sighs, shedding sword and jacket as he lopes towards the bed, fully intent on flopping down beside his bodyguard. "Grandfather is in conference with the Elrics, I cannot sleep and guard you at the same time." Her tone is light, and belies the formal spin of her words. "Sure," Ling smiles, reaching one hand up to curl around her hip, tugging the martial artist down until she can rest against his side. "But what if I decide I don't need guarding for tonight?"

The girl smiles, pulling her mask away to reveal slightly flushed cheeks and a lower lip trapped between teeth. "That's risky, Youn-" The kiss is fierce, and a little edged by the nerves in his stomach, but Ling can feel her relaxing under his hands (now skating reverently over her shoulders and neck). "No more Young Master," he begs, as they pull apart, "not when it's only us. _Never_ when it's only us."

Lan Fan's only response is to press herself into his touch, fingers curling desperately around strong shoulders as she nods. "_Ling_."

* * *

Panic is no foreign friend to the phoenix of the Yao Clan; but the time between helping Lan Fan into the sewers and pulling her back into his arms is an unprecedented level of emotion. He can feel it like the roiling of Central's Qi, insidious and strong, sliding over his neck and back until he wanted to retch out the side of the Lieutenant's car. Everything is too much and the person dearest to him is currently bleeding out in a sewer.

"Here!" The boy cries when they reach the designated spot, black hair flying as he launches out of the vehicle to find _his_ Lan Fan. It takes just over a minute, and the lurch of his heart when they're finally face to face again is earnestly painful. "Come here," he murmurs, careful not to jostle as he pulls her into his arms (the stump where her arm used to be is poignant, wrapped in his steadily staining shirt). "The Lieutenant says they have a doctor." Against his chest, Lan Fan weakly nods, and Ling worries she's lost too much blood to the sewer and the streets.

His lips press a kiss into her hair, and Lan Fan begins to cry as they emerge into the setting sun.

* * *

"D'you think we should wake him?" Knox asks, leaning heavily against the doorframe as he and the Colonel observe the pair. "No," Mustang sighs, one sweaty palm running agitatedly through his hair, "let them sleep, it's not as if anything is going to change in a few hours." In truth, it is the fact that neither of them have it in their hearts to rouse the sleeping pair, their little sphere of comfort something too precious to wreck.

The Prince of Xing mumbles something in his sleep, and curls a little tighter around his Vassal, legs tangling with her own beneath the sheets. Roy had known the second he met the boy, seen the parallel in their situations almost faster than he'd seen the strategic advantage of helping the Prince- and now he was forced to watch the two grieve, grieve for her arm and grieve for their peace.

(Wrath would follow them like a hound.)

* * *

When it is all over, Ling plays his part until they've found a warm room (the military was quick to put up those who helped to overthrow) and then drops the façade like a bad habit. They have lost too much, seen too many fall, and the way Lan Fan is walking under the weight of her Grandfather's death causes the man's heart to clench. "Lan Fan," he beckons from the bed, shirt already off as he reclines against the pillows. "Come here."

And she does, throwing aside armor and weapons and porcelain until she is in his arms and kissing him fiercely. "I love you," he presses against her lips, voice bordering on a growl as his fingers pull her shirt away. Tonight they will heal, move past homunculi and lost friends, prepare to honor their dead once the border is crossed. Tonight is a night for new beginnings and rising from the ashes.

"I know," she replies, and after that there is no talking, only the muffled war drum of their hearts as, slowly, they let the hope in their chests bloom.


	2. first (kiss)

**well**: ling is a saucy little bastard but i love him very much~

**prompt**: "lingfan first kiss!"

**eff why eye**: got a prompt? drop it as a review here, or shoot it to my tumblr, _hyperphonic_!

* * *

Ling doesn't really claim to know a whole hell of a lot about kissing. He knows it's an expression of affection, and that it's supposed to be really quite enjoyable- but that's where the young prince's knowledge runs dry. Perhaps it is his mere fourteen years of age, or perhaps the sheltered lifestyle of the court. Either way, he is woefully unprepared for the rush of hormones and resulting urges that hit him like a ton of bricks.

While kissing may not be his forte (or something he'd ever even done), Ling _does _know Lan Fan like the back of his hand. He knows the way she preps her kunai strikes over one shoulder, he knows the way her breathing sounds on the verge of sleep, he knows what her soap smells like and how she likes her tea in the morning. And he _thinks_ he knows what the feeling in his chest is, but the answer to that is so monumental that he waves it away for another day.

Regardless, Ling knows Lan Fan. And Ling knows that he'd really like to kiss Lan Fan.

Especially in times like today- when her thick uniform has been shed in favor of bindings, weapons, and a thin sheen of sweat across her chest. Every time their spar brings them together, Ling can smell her hair warm under the sun, and the familiar waft of oil on her blades (he usually gets a nick from said blade for his troubles).

It's almost too much for him, and he knows it. But sparring is the one time they can tread that thin, thin line without the omnipresent eyes of Xing spotting the infraction. So he lunges for her, long blade flashing in the so-strong sun as he drives it, towards her shoulder.

Naturally, her parry is quick , effective, and gives Ling the perfect chance to throw caution to the wind. One long fingered hand darts out and, dodging between kunai and studded knuckles, the Phoenix of Xing gives his vassal a saucy grin before stealing a kiss.

He thinks her pretty flush and cry of "_young master!_" is entirely worth the resulting blow to his solar plexus. (Even more so when, that same evening, she bids him goodnight with a kiss to his cheek, dark eyes lowered to the rich carpet quite bashfully.)


	3. dawn

**ahhhh**: this started out as a lighthearted prompt and then i lost control of it like i always do oops.

* * *

"We don't" hot breath rushed out against Lan Fan's collarbone, quickly followed by a nip and a languid kiss to the blooming bruise, "have a lot of time." She gasped as strong hands curled around her hips to lift, pressing her back into the wall easily as the Prince of Xing stepped into the cradle of her hips.

Nimble fingers pulled the tight black shirt (_wrong wrong wrongwrong_) away from his frame as Ling continued to speak against her throat, "Greed won't let me stay in control forever and I want," he took a deep breath, shuddering into her palms as they skated up his sides, holding his ribs and reaffirming his truths. "I want you, and I want to be here when-"

"I know," Lan Fan breathes, and then she is pulling his lips up to her own and they are gasping together as her weight crashes onto his hips. She has missed him so much, wanted so badly to know he was alright, not dead, not dying, not lost to the convictions of another. It doesn't matter, in that moment, that her arm is cold and probably burns against his skin. Or that, in her haste, the oppressive black shirt he wears is torn instead of discarded- It only matters that his hips have begun to rock against her own, the rhythm desperate and rough and so, so fitting in this cold Amestris night.

They are not home, not in the cloistered, humid warmth of Xing, and in a way she is glad. Because there they have roles to fill- and even though they're undeniably lost in this gritty land with it's secrets and it's subterfuge- they are free. Free to love and free to fly, even if sometimes Ling isn't Ling and the phantom arm at her side wakes her up in the middle of the night with it's pain.

"_Ling,_" she gasps when it is finally too much and the man steps back just enough to remove her pants, infinitely glad for the loose style of Xing. After that, they are both lost, breath mingling in the dark of their little rundown room.

When it is all over, and her damp back is pressed against his chest, Lan Fan tries her best not to fall asleep. The Phoenix of Xing is tracing nonsense patterns across the scarred skin of her abdomen, and she wants to stay awake incase he has to go- has to relinquish the tremulous hold he has over his own flesh and blood.

The cool rush of breath against her neck serves to perk Lan Fan up just in time to hear her lover speak, "I think," a soft kiss against her nape, "I think he is going to let me stay until morning." Her lips break into a smile and the next morning dawns on two young lovers tangled together in the sheets.


	4. regrets (or lack thereof)

**notes**: ahhh gee, this one is a little all over the map, but i still really love it.

**prompt**: "the emperor may have many wives, but only one lover"

* * *

Lan Fan knows her duty. She knows that she is to be felt but not seen, a lethal strike in the dark and nothing more. She wears her studded knuckles and mask proudly, even her automail has become a symbol of her trade, all recurved blade and wiring made to kill. Her duty is to protect the emperor with her blades and her cunning and her life if it's called for.

That is her duty.

Just as Ling's duty is to rule is country, taking wives and robes and grandeur such as neither of them could imagine. He hates it. Lan Fan knows he has not found the same love in his duty as she has hers. And it is not that he regrets the throne, or lacks in love for his people (because the endless nights he spends in his office fretting over paperwork and plans are more than proof of that), it is that he does not want for the act.

"Lan Fan," he sighs up towards the rafters, tired eyes searching for the familiar black of her garb against the shadows (he can feel her Qi thrumming softly, ebbing and flowing in counter time to his own). The young lord knows she is there just like he knows the sun will rise, she is always there.

From the vaulted ceiling her voice falls, soft and almost ethereal. "Yes my Lord?" Ling rubs at his eyes and slumps a bit in his chair. "We're alone, you know." Her Qi brightens, glowing like the lanterns hanging beneath her beam and Ling feels a smile creep across his face. "Yes, Ling." And then she is dropping to land in an elegant crouch, all dark fabric and feline grace, "what's wrong?"

"I miss you." He confesses, earnest eyes seeking out her own in the dimly lit room. The mask that guards her face can't hide the way her Qi swells, mimicking the clench-clench-sink of his heart as it crashes down. "Oh Ling," her voice is soft, almost broken, and the Emperor wastes no time in beckoning her close. "Stay with me tonight," he begs, long fingered hands reaching up to remove the sheet of porcelain. "But your wife…" Ling sets the mask aside and gently cups her face before pulling her in for a kiss, heart racing fast as they move. "She," he begins as they part for breath, "is not my wife." His hands slide to grip her waist and gently pull her into his lap. "She is the Emperor's wife."

Mismatched hands gently undo the braid at his nape, combing through dark locks until it falls against his shoulders and tickles at her chin. "And I am Ling."

And that is all she needs. Her duty is not to marry the Emperor; she is no lady of the court, has no fine breeding to her name. But that does not mean she cannot love- cannot cradle his skull as he kisses her, lips desperately memorizing her own in their dance. "I love you," she mumbles, clumsy with emotion, like a rusty blade in her palm. "And I you," he sighs as her shirt is pulled up and away. "Tomorrow," he purrs against one breast, eyes blissfully closed as she rubs his shoulders. "I have a meeting," briefly, her hands cease in their ministrations to pull at his heavy silk garb. "But after that," he sighs and lifts his head, breath fanning out across her skin as he nuzzles into the crook of her neck, "we should spar."

The martial artist laughs, "actually spar, or..?" Ling grins against her neck and lazily nips her pulse point. "Why not both?" And then they are silent again, save for Lan Fan's muffled gasp as he worms his fingers beneath her underwear, slowly stroking as she begins to work the knots out of his neck, "Ling" she whines, and the needy roll of her hips is all the encouragement he needs to go faster, kiss her harder, drive the pace until his loose pants are painfully tight and her toes are curling in her boots.

Ling's duty is to rule the country, to provide guidance and laws and a figure to unite under. He is to take fifty wives, produce and heir with each and somehow still keep his heart intact enough to rule. He can do it though, he knows he can, because his heart is no longer on his fine brocade sleeve; no it is stowed safely away against creamy skin and kunai.

This is what they wanted, this is the reality they knew they were resigning themselves to under those cold Amestrian stars. Even then, when their love flowed free and unhidden, they knew how it would be.

Ling cries out her name when he comes, chest heaving against bound breasts and arms twining almost too tight around her shoulders. "I love you," he repeats against her clavicle, and neither of them regret it in the least. Because the Emperor may have many wives (Lan Fan trails soft kisses along his sandpaper jaw, fingers soothing over the scratches she'd left behind) but only one lover.


	5. lock and key

**prompt**: "Mei walking in on Ling and Lan Fan and the two are like oH shIT and Mei's totally grossed out because gross brother + gross Yao bodyguard = ew but then eventually she's like all right I guess I accept you guys are a couple and one of them/both are like WHO ASKED YOU"

**also**: tech week is going strong and i am not sleeping enough. which seems to make me write. who knew?

**ps**: i never quite got this piece to agree with me, so i apologize if anything seems clunky or less than standard. /sighs

* * *

"So," Ling purred one sunny afternoon, lips slowly working along the seam of Lan Fan's automail. "Today in the meeting I noticed Mei Chang staring quite intently at you.."

Beneath him, his lover smiled and arched up with a sigh, eyes closing as he mouthed down the line of her clavicle. The sun shifted, catching dust motes and lancing off the lacquer of his desk- causing the man to squint while his vassal-turned-lover laughed. "I imagine she was," mismatched hands carded lightly through his loose hair as Lan Fan leaned up to press a kiss against his lips, "probably to inquire as to whether or not you'd sustained a head injury."

The Emperor of Xing nuzzled intently into her neck, corded arms twining tightly around her bare torso. "You had just abolished one of the country's most ancient laws." His smile burned against her neck almost as brightly as the fire in her belly, and Lan Fan gave an insistent wriggle of her hips (just in case he'd forgotten what a tight schedule they were on).

Even teeth nipped at her pulse point, causing a gasp before a soft moan as he spoke against the blooming mark, "it was outdated anyways." Strong hips gave a languid roll, mirroring the lazy kiss he pressed soothingly against her skin. "And there's only one woman I'm willing to marry." Lan Fan's lips spread in a giddy smile, and the young lord raised his head just enough to peck against the corner of her mouth. "Plus, Mei's been trying to figure us out since Amestris and we both know-"

"Ling," the hands nestled in his hair tugged sharply, and the dark boy bent to press a kiss to her lips as his hips rolled again.

"Impatient, are we?" Her only response was to nip at his lip, one hand abandoning his hair in favor of skirting the waistband of his pants, teasing dangerously close to the obvious tent in the fabric.

"You have another meeting in just a few minut-" But he was already working, shucking off the remainder of their clothes to bundle beneath her head as another searing kiss pressed across her lips. "I know," one large hand slid up her thigh, skirting lightly over kunai holsters and fading bruises on it's trek towards her core. A boyish grin overtook his features, "we should probably get down to it." (Even then, with one finger sliding deep inside, Lan Fan couldn't help but let her laugh bubble out.)

In retrospect, both of them would see the fault in deciding to couple together on the floor behind his desk. In retrospect, both of them realized that _maybe_, when dealing with people as obstinate as the Xingese, the threat of an Emperors wrath alone wasn't as good as say, a locked door.

But in the heat of the moment, all that really mattered was the rush of her name that fell as he pressed inside, all strong and long and so entirely hers. "Oh," the warrior girl gasped, skin and bone hand clawing down his back as her hips were angled up with a familiar ease. "We don't have long," Ling teased, drawing out his thrusts with a crooked grin, "so I've got to make the most of it." Which, judging by the curl of her toes and the way his name fell breathy from her lips, he was.

Until one Mei Chang broke down the door.

"Ling Yao!" The familiar voice cried, childlike soprano freezing both lovers in their tracks. "I can feel your Qi, I know you're in here!" Lan Fan watched as the man above her grimaced, head dropping to rest against her sternum briefly before he gently pulled away, lips pressing an apology to her temple. "Here," the worn silk of his golden top fell across her chest, "put this on." And he was standing up, loose pants already slung low across his hips.

"Here, Mei."

Sighing, Lan Fan adjusted the overlarge shirt until she was sure everything necessary was covered, eyes narrowing as the Chang girl's voice rose an octave. "What have you done?"

The dark girl could practically feel the situation spiraling downwards as she stood, one hand darting out to curl around Ling's wrist. "You're going to lose control of the clans!"

Beside her, Ling's shoulders stiffened, taking on a line not unlike that of the man who took her arm. "I will _not_," his voice was low and rough, betraying their prior activities more than any state of undress could. "They're all appeased with their new spots on the council and I-" Mei's jaw dropped comically, eyes widening as she glanced between the two ruffled lovers.

Grinding to a halt, the former homunculus host raised one thin brow at his half sister, all seriousness evaporating like dew in the sun. "You should close your mouth, little Chang."

"When," the delicate girl began, jaw still undeniably slack, "did you.." a small hand flapped, searching for the right term, "take up with her?"

"When I was five actually," Ling grinned, eyes already crinkling at the thought of their escapades. "She and-"

"No," Mei took a step forwards as she cut him off, keen stare fixed on the bruise nestled against Lan Fan's pulse. "I mean _take up_."

"Oh."

The Phoenix of Xing stole a glance at the blushing girl beside him and shrugged, "a bit before Amestris." Long fingers tangled with Lan Fan's own, only serving to push her blush higher (_why_ did her mask have to be kicked under the desk?).

"Though nothing really happened until we got home."

The look of disgust that flitted across the Chang's face threw Ling into a fit of laughter, brows drawing together as he clutched at Lan Fan's hand for support. (Any sensitive information divulged was, in his opinion, _completely_ worth the current look on his half sister's face.)

"Do you love her?" The inquiry was earnest, a complete one eighty from her earlier tone- and for the briefest of seconds Ling was silent.

"Of course." His fingers tighten, "I'd be stupid if I didn't." (Lan Fan halfway hears the rush of her own breath escaping.)

"Right then." Mei began to brush invisible creases from her brocade skirt, thin lips already pulling into a sly grin. "I'll be going then." And before either of the two can speak, she does, skipping out the broad double doors with a tune on her lips.

"Ling?" Lan Fan managed through her blush, lower lip caught firmly between her teeth, "you have three minutes until the dignitaries arrive."

"_Shit_."


End file.
